


An Epiphany

by Gryffprincessem



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Auror Draco Malfoy, Draco Malfoy & Harry Potter Friendship, Draco Malfoy Has a Large Cock, Draco Malfoy Needs a Hug, Draco Malfoy is Bad at Feelings, Draco Malfoy is Clueless About Muggle Things, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Infidelity, Luna Lovegood & Draco Malfoy Friendship, Original Female Character is a Ravenclaw, Pansy Parkinson is a Good Friend, Past Rape/Non-con, Pining Draco Malfoy, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Post-War, Touch-Starved, draco malfoy is a Good Dad, slowish burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-13
Updated: 2021-03-16
Packaged: 2021-03-18 09:28:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,287
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29980803
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gryffprincessem/pseuds/Gryffprincessem
Summary: Epiphany; a sudden manifestation or perception of the essential nature or meaning of something, or an intuitive grasp of reality through a simple or striking event; an illuminating discovery, realization, or disclosure or a revealing scene or moment.Draco Malfoy was convinced the life he lived was it for him. That he would spend the remainder of his time in a fractured marriage, healing the wounds his wife left upon him and his son.That is until Isla Bell barrels unexpectedly into their life and squeezes her way into both Malfoy boy's hearts.DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN MAJORITY OF THESE CHARACTERS! THOSE RIGHTS GO TO J.K ROWLING.
Relationships: Adrian Pucey/Original Female Character(s), Astoria Greengrass/Draco Malfoy, Daphne Greengrass/Theodore Nott, Draco Malfoy/Original Female Character(s), Luna Lovegood/Blaise Zabini, Pansy Parkinson/Adrian Pucey
Kudos: 5





	1. Prologue

“This is wrong, Draco.” She took a shuddering breath, tears brimming her hazel hues. “It’s not fair of you to ask this of me.” 

“I know. Okay?” He huffed, running his hands down the length of his pale face. “I know you deserve better. I know I don’t have much to offer you.” He looked away, jaw clenched, stormy eyes swirling with inordinate emotion. “But—I've never felt this way before. I don’t know if I can give that up. If I can let you go.” 

She’d never seen him look so vulnerable. She didn’t know whether to be honored or frightened by it. 

If Draco Malfoy wanted something, he got it. 

And for some unknown reason he wanted her. 

The revelation would make any woman within their right mind run for the hills but she couldn’t find it within herself to walk away—to turn her back on him. 

Even if she’d lose herself trying to save him. 

She lifted her eyes to find his intense gaze already on her. 

“I accepted my fate long ago. I thought this was my karma—my punishment for my past mistakes. Scorpius was enough for me. I planned to live this life with only him by my side—my soul happiness in this cruel world.” He stepped forward, snatching up her dainty hand and lifting it to rest on his furiously beating heart. “I didn’t deserve to feel the love of a woman. I didn’t deserve to know what it felt like to look in another’s eyes and find nothing but adoration, passion, and warmth—directed solely towards me. To be utterly consumed by another in every way.” He brought her hand up, pressing a soft kiss to her palm. 

“Until I met you.”


	2. Green Leaves

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Mentions of past sexual assault.

**_Isla Bell_ **

__

**_September 4, 2006_ **

__

“Find anything good?” 

__

The brunette beauty huffed, tossing today’s copy of the Daily Prophet lazily across the table. “Nope.” She glanced up at the gray-haired witch, shaking her head, dolefully. “I’ve been here a month, Rory, and I’m still jobless. I need to find something soon—before I deplete all my savings.” 

__

Rory rolled her sapphire hues, “You’re so dramatic, darling.” She chortled, waving a bony hand dismissively, “A month means nothing in the grand scheme of things.” She cocked a thin brow, brazenly, “ _ You _ of all people should know that.” 

__

Isla narrowed her hazel eyes, “And what’s  _ that _ supposed to mean?” 

__

“Just that it’s been nearly six years since you’ve stepped foot in the Wizarding world, dear. In my opinion, a month or  _ two _ to readjust is good, if not necessary.” 

__

Rory strolled out from behind the counter, carrying a tray filled with tea and freshly baked pastries, and slid into the booth beside Isla. She pushed a pair of crooked reading glasses up on her hooked nose and snatched the paper right out from under the younger witch’s fingertips. 

__

“Now, let me take a look.” Her all-known eyes scanned over printed words, gray brows furrowed in concentration. “Hogwarts’ first term is already underway. So that’s out of the picture—at least until next year.” She licked the tip of her thumb prior to turning the page, “Prominent Wizarding families typically hire someone to privately tutor their children, perhaps you should consider exploring that option. It might be your best bet.” 

__

Rory tapped a long finger against the bottom right corner of the page, “Look here—The Flint’s, Rosier’s, Macmillian’s... Bone’s, Scamander… The Malfoy’s.” She leaned back in her seat, eyeing the younger witch expectantly. 

__

“The majority of those families are Pureblood, Rory! Do you honestly believe a family like the Malfoy’s would hire a muggle-born witch to teach their heir?” 

__

“Yes!” Rory sighed, shaking her head softly, “The Wizarding world has changed immensely in your absence. The traditional Pureblood customs  _ have changed _ .” She snorted, scornfully, “I mean, they were left with no choice  _ but  _ to change after the war—The Malfoy’s specifically.” 

__

Isla dragged a hand, frustratingly, down her pale face. “Old habits die hard, Ror. They may  _ publicly  _ accept muggle-borns, that doesn’t mean they’d invite one into their home, let alone teach their ‘heirs’.” 

__

Upon her return to London, Isla spent everyday combing through the Daily Prophet and The Quibbler, in desperate search of an open teaching position. The decision to come home had been rash and thoughtless. The mindless idea that she’d slip gracefully back into society had been foolish. Although her heart and head were on the right track, she couldn’t help but feel a bit regretful and disheartened. Not to mention, restless. There were only so many hours a day one could spend with their nose in a book. 

__

“Not the Malfoy’s.” Rory cooed, popping a rather large chunk of one of her infamous blueberry scones into her mouth. “I know Narcissa Malfoy fairly well—the sweet thing. Let me tell ya—Lucius Malfoy’s incarceration was the best thing to ever happen to that family.” She nodded to herself, washing the treat down with a sip of tea. “She drops in quite often—one of my regulars. I’m assuming they’re looking for someone to tutor her grandson—cute little tyke.”

__

“Draco’s son?” Isla leaned forward over the table, chilled fingers wrapped tightly around her mug. “I had no idea he was married, let alone had a son already.” 

__

“How would you?” Rory scoffed, playfully rolling her blue hues. “It’s not like you received a copy of the Daily Prophet while away.” 

__

The witch made a good point. 

__

Isla knew little, to none about Draco Malfoy. He had attended Hogwarts two years ahead of her and they both ended up sorted into opposing houses; her to Ravenclaw and him to Slytherin. 

__

In her first three years, Draco’s presence was nearly impossible to miss. Always found sauntering through the halls, flanked by Crabbe and Goyle, threatening first and second years, or picking fights with Harry Potter. There wasn’t much to him then, other than his over inflated ego and superiority complex.

__

However, when she returned for her fourth year, he had been  _ different _ . A shell of his former self. 

__

All around, Isla was always very mindful of her surroundings and the people within it. Despite the abhorrent manner in which she dealt with her own emotions, she had quite the knack for apprehending other’s. 

__

So when Draco turned up in the Great Hall on September first of 1997, looking sickly and adrift, she noticed. Following the Welcome Feast, his attendance to meals were infrequent. If she ever spotted him in the halls between classes, he kept to himself and remained with his head down. 

__

Truthfully, Isla found it rather alarming at the time. But looking back, knowing all that she knew now, it made sense. She’d have probably acted the same given the circumstances. 

__

The last time she laid eyes on Draco Malfoy was May two of 1998 for the final battle on Hogwarts grounds. She would never forget the flicker of irresolution that crossed his pointed features when Voldemort addressed him personally. Never forget the trepidation swirling in his stormy hues as he disregarded and resisted his master's command to join him on the other side. 

__

“He married that Greengrass girl.” Rory’s placid voice drew Isla from her thoughts. “The younger one—Astoria.” Isla hummed softly in response. She finished off the last sip of her tea before beginning to prepare another. “It was an arranged marriage but I’m fairly certain Narcissa strongly dislikes the girl-”

__

“Rory! I love you, but I’m not the least bit interested in the Malfoy’s family dynamics.” Isla rebuked, biting down hard on her lip, praying the older woman wouldn’t take her abrupt retort personally. “Working for the Malfoy’s would be disastrous.” 

__

The older woman’s thin lips curved into a stubborn pout, “But they would pay you so well. And the boy is so sweet.” 

__

The bell above the door chimed, a burst of warm September wind rushed into the cafe. Rory rose from the booth, dusted the crumbs from her tattered cream apron, and scurried back to her position behind the counter. Isla slumped lazily back against her seat and retrieved a book from her canvas bag. 

__

“Oh! What a surprise!” Rory greeted, cheerfully , “Narcissa, how are you? I see you’ve brought the boy along today.” 

__

Isla’s heart stuttered in her chest. She whipped around to find an elegantly dressed woman standing just inside the threshold. She wore fitting black robes, her pale hair twisted up into a refined updo. The absolute epitome of a posh witch.

__

Chin held high, Narcissa stepped forward, “Aurora, I’m well. Thank you.” She offered her a tight-lipped smile, “And I trust you’re doing well.” 

__

Isla’s wide eyes fell to the small boy hidden behind his grandmother's leg. She’d always expected Malfoy genetics were strong—seeing as Draco and Lucius Malfoy bore the same sharp features, signature platinum locks, and stormy, gray eyes—But  _ this _ . The similarities between Draco and his son were uncanny. 

__

It was startling. 

__

If she didn’t know better, she might even go as far as to assume the Malfoy’s owned a time-turner and this young boy  _ was  _ a younger Draco. 

__

Isla shook her head, heat subconsciously rising to her pale cheeks, and scolded herself for openly gaping over the pair. 

__

Attempting to remain unnoticed, she lifted the tattered copy of ‘Pride and Prejudice’, burying her nose quite literally into the pages. She could only hope no one noticed her hazel hues peering over the book. 

__

Of course, Rory had other plans in mind. It was quite plain when she shot the younger witch a wry smile as she conversed with the prestigious Lady Malfoy. 

__

“Narcissa, I read in the Daily Prophet that you are in need of a tutor.” 

__

_ Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.  _

__

Isla shouldn’t be surprised. Rory  _ would  _ force this on her. Pure intentions disregarded, she could count on an earful later. 

__

“Yes. For Scorpius, here.” Narcissa paused, running her nimble fingers through the boy’s distinguishable locks. “Draco’s work as an auror is highly demanding and unpredictable. He is called on for duty more often than not these days.” She continued, “And with my strenuous hours overseeing Malfoy Apothecary-” Her painted red lips tugged up into a reticent smile. “We’re looking for someone to act—not only as a tutor, but a nanny, I suppose.”

__

Rory nodded, apprehensively as she continued about preparing tea for Narcissa and a small hot chocolate for Scorpius. “Well, I think I may have the perfect candidate for the job.” 

__

Isla wanted nothing more than to scream at the witch. She was torn between casting a disillusionment charm over herself or making a mad dash towards the door.

__

“You don’t say.” Narcissa drawled, “Who?” 

__

_ Please. Please. Please, Rory.  _

__

“Isla, darling.” Rory sang, she lifted a bony hand, beckoning her over. “Come. Let me properly introduce you to one of my star customers.” 

__

Isla squeezed her eyes shut, taking a few calming breaths, she willed her furiously beating heart to decelerate. Reluctantly, she clambered to her feet, showcased a prize-winning smile, and joined the three at the counter. 

__

“Hello.” Isla greeted, politely. “I’m Isla Bell.” 

__

_Did she bow?_ _Offer a handshake?_ She wasn’t at all accustomed to proper Pureblood etiquette. 

__

Isla shrank, timidly under the taller witch's intense gaze. Narcissa studied the length of her, inch by every inch and Isla swore she could feel her piercing, blue eyes physically burning holes into her delicate pale skin. 

__

Unexpectedly, a smile broke out across her heart-shaped face, “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Miss Bell.” Her hand lifted from her grandson’s hair, offering it expectedly in front of her. Isla accepted it immediately, giving her dainty hand a firm shake. “I’m Narcissa Malfoy.” She stepped to the side, granting the young woman a better view of the boy, “This is my grandson, Scorpius.” 

__

Isla squatted down and offered the boy a hand, “Hello, Scorpius. Are you named after the Scorpius constellation?” 

__

His hesitation diminished, replaced with a broad grin and alight gray eyes. “Yes! Isn’t it cool?” 

__

“Very.” Isla chuckled, “Did you know Scorpius is the brightest constellation in the sky?” He shook his head, shyly. “It’s Latin for scorpion and translated as the ‘creature with the burning sting’. A very strong name for a strong boy, don’t you think?” 

__

“Yes.” He nodded, a proud smirk across thin lips. She wasn’t the least bit surprised that he’d already perfected the infamous ‘Malfoy’ smirk. “Daddy said I’m tough like him and I’ll grow big like him soon.” 

__

Isla laughed, “I’m sure you will.” She caught Narcissa’s eye, offering her a small smile as she straightened up, back to her usual height of 5’5. 

__

“Would you care to join us for tea?” 

__

Isla breathed out a sigh of relief, “I would love to. I already have a booth, is that alright if we sit there?” 

__

“Of course.” 

__

Narcissa took lead, ushering Scorpius towards the booth in the furthest corner of the homey cafe. Isla followed close behind, but not before shooting a smug looking Rory, a pointed glare. 

__

Once Narcissa set Scorpius to his own devices, she turned her attention back to the young woman and lifted a blonde brow, “Is it safe to assume you're looking for a job?” 

__

Isla finished stirring her honey and sugar into her tea, placed the teaspoon down on the table and a napkin in her lap, and sat up straighter in her seat. “Yes. I’ve just moved back to London after six years away.” 

__

“Oh. Where did you go?” 

__

“A little bit of everywhere.” Isla lifted her mug, blowing cool air over the steaming substance. “I graduated from Hogwarts in 2000. From there I hopped on a train with no particular destination in mind. I ended up in Paris, France. I stayed there for three years to attend Sorbonne University, where I earned my muggle teaching degree.” She paused, waiting professedly for a reaction that did not come. “From there, I travelled around Europe, transferring to a new school each term.” 

__

“Fascinating.” Narcissa appraised. Isla was relieved to find the attribution to be sincere. “Where all did you teach?”

__

“Various muggle schools. A semester in Barcelona, Venice, Edinburg, Berlin, Athens, and Amsterdam.” Isla smiled, lazily, “It was an extremely eye opening experience; from picking up on foreign languages to acclimating yourself with their customs and beliefs.”

__

“I’d imagine so.” Narcissa hummed, circling a polished fingernail around the rim of her cup. “Do you miss it?”

__

“I do.” Isla admitted, nodding solemnly, “The food, mostly.” 

__

The older woman chuckled, “Why return then?” 

__

Isla inhaled sharply, biting down on her bottom lip, “I missed magic.” She replied, truthfully, “Before the war, I had planned to become a professor at Hogwarts. By the time I graduated two years later, I realized that perhaps a bit of time away from the Wizarding world , would do me well.” She glanced away, her occluded walls rising into place, shielding herself from the prospects of resurfacing pain. “I took the time I needed. I’m ready to be  _ home _ .” 

__

Narcissa nodded, apprehensively, a sad smile sketched across intricate features. “I’m sorry for whatever you went through.” She shuttered in her seat, subconsciously fiddling with the sleeves of her robes. “Those were hard times, then. I would’ve done the same if I didn’t have such exigent obligations.” 

__

Isla managed a small smile. The last thing she ever wanted to discuss with Narcissa Malfoy was the part she played in the war. It brought back too many  _ unpleasant _ memories. Other than Rory and her therapist, Katie, no one really knew what she’d gone through. 

__

Fortunately, Narcissa seemed to sense her discomfort. “Would you be interested in hearing about what the job entails?”

__

“Yes.” Isla breathed out a sigh of relief, her rigid posture, lightened. 

__

“It would sort of be an around the clock job. He’s just turned three so we were hoping to begin structured lessons on ‘pre-skills’. Ultimately helping him to learn to read, write, build math and science skills. All things, I’m sure you are aware of.” She continued, “Not only would you be his tutor but a nanny. My son’s work as an auror is highly demanding and his hours vary vastly. We just need a bit of help to make sure Scorpius is taken care of during the day whilst we are away.” 

__

“Yes, of course. That’s completely understandable.” 

__

Isla vaguely wondered why Narcissa never mentioned Scorpius' mother. Obviously, Astoria was still alive and married to Draco—based on what she had gathered from Rory’s earlier comments, yet Narcissa made it seem as if it were Draco and her were alone in the struggle to care for the boy. She found it odd but wouldn’t dare mention it. 

__

Perhaps Rory was right, maybe Narcissa wasn’t fond of her daughter-in-law. 

__

“We’d pay you well. And of course we’d cover all the expenses for necessary supplies and such.” Narcissa babbled, “We’d set you up in your own chambers. Effectively cutting any and all costs of any housing expenses you might encounter-”

__

Was this truly the best option? Living under the same roof as  _ the _ Draco Malfoy? Once prejudiced bully turned death-Easter, turned ex-death eater/auror. Malfoy had never specifically targeted her but he very well could’ve if he had known who she was and where she came from. Narcissa may have had a change of heart but that didn’t mean her son did. 

__

“-Scorpius’ routine is fairly simple. He’s very well mannered and respectful. I may be a bit bias, but he truly is the most well-behaved three year old, especially in comparison to Draco-”

__

Accepting the position would be risky but she had a nagging feeling she’d regret it if she didn’t. The job was just too good to pass up on. And it wasn’t as if she had various other options. 

__

“I’m a muggle-born.” The confession spilled from her lips like word vomit and Isla winced. She hadn’t meant to proclaim it so abruptly. So  _ loudly. _

__

Narcissa cocked a brow. She almost looked  _ amused _ . 

__

“Grandmother, what’s a muggle-born?” Scorpius piped up, glancing up at the older witch, curiously. 

__

“The term means nothing of importance.” Narcissa responded. She feigned an encouraging smile, “You’d better finish that hot chocolate before it gets cold.” 

__

The exchange provided suitable evidence that the Malfoy’s had, in fact, changed their ways. Isla’s heart soared in her chest. She was torn between the unforeseen sentiment of relief and pride. Witches were witches, wizards were wizards. So long as you had magic, where one stemmed from didn’t matter.

__

Narcissa turned back to Isla, gaze softened, “Given our past, I understand the hesitancy and why you might think that piece of information is of any importance but I can assure you, we no longer support or believe in the traditional ideals on blood purity.” She continued, “After my husband's arrest, Draco and I worked tirelessly to reform the Malfoy principle and amend our reputation.” 

__

Isla offered a nod of acknowledgement. “I’m sorry for  _ that _ . I meant no offense.” She bit her lip, a faint blush rising over pale cheeks. “I guess I wanted you to know.” 

__

“Your concern was justified.” Narcissa trailed off. Her blue eyes remained on her grandson, the corner of her cherry lips turned down in a frown. She lifted her gaze, offering the younger witch a tight-lipped smile before finishing off her last few sips of tea. 

__

“I’m interested.” Isla spoke up, leaning forward over the table. She shyly tucked a loose curl behind her ear and set to making herself a third cup of tea. She intended to accept the offer but first, she needed to better acquaint herself with both Narcissa and Scorpius. 

__

A broad grin split across the older witches face. She clasped her hands over her chest, “Oh. Wonderful.” She shook her head, breathing out a relieved sigh, “This is a huge relief. Every other candidate hasn’t been nearly as promising as you.” 

__

“First things first, call me Isla. I find Miss Bell a bit formal if we are to be living under the same roof.” She chuckled, “Secondly, I’d really like to meet Draco before we go any further. I’d like for him to approve of me. Scorpius is his son, after all.” 

__

“Of course.” Narcissa bobbed her head in agreement, boring a pleased smirk, “Are you available for dinner tomorrow evening. Let’s say—six o’clock at the Manor?” 

__

“Sounds perfect.” 

__

Narcissa and Scorpius stuck around for another hour. They spoke mostly of Isla’s travels, never straying too far from polite conversation on trivial matters. Isla found herself actually enjoying the prestigious witch’s company. Perhaps someday she’d consider Narcissa a friend, if not, at least an acquaintance. 

__

Eventually, Scorpius emerged from his shell, and inserted himself in discussion—well, as best as a child of his age could. It didn’t take long until he was chatting her ear off about Dragons and Quidditch. She noted that he spoke often and proudly of his father but said nothing of his mother. 

__

Isla left the cafe soon after the two Malfoy’s departure. Not without scolding Rory for inserting herself in her business. However, she could never stay mad, especially when it came to that witch. Not when she’d been the mastermind behind this unexpected opportunity and stood supportively by Isla’s side through life’s ups and downs. 

__

* * *

__

**_September 5, 2006_ **

_**  
  
** _

_ “Please.”  _

__

_ “Do you hear that, Amycus?” The raceous voice drawled out. He chuckled, darkly, “Always so polite, little mudblood.”  _

__

_ “Please. Please don’t.” She cried out, struggling against the taut bindings encircling her thin wrist. Large tears rolled down her bruised cheeks, bare body trembling on the cold, stiff cement. “I’ll do anything, please.”  _

__

_ “Anything?” A long, pale, twisted face appeared above her. His burly figure pressing impossibly hard against her. She managed to identify him, even through her tears—signature dark, ratty curls and wicked, yellow grin.  _

__

_ A distressingly, familiar man.  _

__

_ She bobbed her head, swallowing thickly in sore attempts to choke back a sob.  _

__

_ The most vile smile she’d ever seen, split across his thin lips.“There’s only one thing I want from you, darling.” He ran his grimy fingers gently through her chocolate-colored curls.  _

__

_ His eyes darkened, a sinister sneer replacing his previously smug facade. He tightened his grip, giving the thick locks a forceful yank. “The only thing you filthy, mudbloods are good for-” _

__

_ She could feel him.  _

__

_ Feel it between her thighs.  _

__

_ “A good fuck.”  _

__

Isla shot straight up in bed, chest heaving in a desperate attempt to regulate her breathing. A thick layer of sweat coated her pale skin and drenched her sleep wear. 

__

She all but flew from her bed. As soon as her bare feet hit the cold, wood boards, she barreled towards the bathroom. Distraughtly, stumbling and tripping over boxes and piles of littered clothing. 

__

A flick of her wrist and harsh, fluorescent light flooded the tiny space. Her shaking hands found purchase on the edge of the sink as incessant, forceful sobs wracked her diminutive figure. 

__

Isla made the mistake of lifting her head and caught sight of herself in the mirror. A gasp slipped from her pale lips. The person staring back at her was unrecognizable. 

__

Isla considered herself to be ‘fair skinned’ but  _ now _ . Now, her skin looked frighteningly pallid. Dark, purple bags hung under her wild, bloodshot eyes. The dark hair around her face was slick with sweat and the ends fell, tangled down her spine. 

__

Her appearance shouldn’t have surprised her. She always looked frail— _ broken _ after nights like these. 

__

Isla squeezed her eyes shut, taking a few deep, shaky breaths through gritted teeth. 

__

_ You’re safe. Breathe. He’s dead. Breathe. He can no longer hurt you. Breathe.  _

__

“Breathe.” She ordered. “Just breathe.” 

__

Red rimmed, hazel eyes fluttered open, a relieved sigh slipping past cracked, chapped lips. A bit of color had returned to the apples of her cheeks.  _ Good _ . 

__

She yanked her ratty, oversized t-shirt over her head and slipped off her cotton knickers. For a moment, she allowed her eyes to trail the length of her shivering figure.

__

She couldn’t stand to look at herself without glamor charms. Couldn’t stand the marks  _ he  _ had scarred, permanently into her porcelain skin. 

__

_ Dirty blood _ , they reminded her.  _ Filthy, little, dirty mudblood _ . 

__

A run. She needed to run. To be free. 

__

Then, Katie. Or Rory. Preferably Katie. 

__

One last nauseating gaze into the mirror, she flicked the lights off, and staggered back into the overly-cluttered room. 

__

The alarm clock on her dresser read ‘4:17’. Not that it mattered to her, sleeping would be impossible at this point. 

__

It didn’t take Isla long to change into a pair of muggle, running leggings and sports bra. She opted to go without a jacket. She desperately needed to feel the cool, early morning breeze against her heated skin. 

__

Mindful of Rory sleeping just down the hall, she trekked down the stairs and straight out of the house. She didn’t bother to stretch, kicking off at an even, high-paced tempo. 

__

From there she ran… And ran, and ran. 

__

No particular destination in mind. No specific path to follow. 

__

She steadied on. With every light foot fall, every controlled breath, the heaviness in her chest grew lighter. Every negative thought, ever traumatic memory stirring within the confines of her big, beautiful brain, faded away. 

__

By the time she collapsed beside Rory’s rose garden—just as the sun began to rise over the horizon—she felt as light as a feather. 

__

A smile cracked across her flushed face when a shadow loomed over her supine form. 

__

Rory stood, enveloped in a large, fluffy bathrobe and a set of plaid pajamas. Her long, gray hair flying every which way, Isla might’ve mistaken it for a bird nest. 

__

The older witch cocked a thin, gray brow, eyes dancing with amusement, “Morning.” 

__

“Morning.” 

__

Isla dragged herself to her feet, ignoring the achy burn in her thighs, glutes, and calfs. The muscles were simply protesting the shift in positions. She relished in this sort of pain, welcomed it even. 

__

“Nightmare?” Rory inquired, holding a mug filled to the rim with a steaming brown substance. Isla quickly identified it as coffee by it’s smoky, nutty aroma and accepted it greedily. 

__

“Mhmm.” She hummed, bringing the mug to her lips for a taste tester. Satisfied with the temperature and the taste, she took a few necessary gulps. It warmed her insides and relieved the dryness in her throat. “Thank you, Rory.” 

__

Rory nodded, falling in step beside the younger witch as they climbed the porch steps. She held the screen door open and ushered Isla in, “Would you like to talk about it?” 

__

A flash of guilt flicked in Isla’s hazel hues. She dropped her head, shaking it lightly, “No. Sorry.” 

__

“No need to apologize, darling.” A chilled, bony hand squeezed her shoulder gently, “I understand it’s hard to discuss. But give Katie a call for me, will ya?” Rory continued, “It’s been awhile since you’ve had one and I’d feel better if you talked through it with her.” 

__

Isla bit her lip in failed attempts to hide a smile and rolled her eyes, playfully, “Alright, mum.” 

__

Rory smacked her arm, feigning a pointed glare before she moved around the kitchen island, gathering the necessary ingredients for pancakes. “Are you coming to the cafe today?” 

__

After pouring herself a second cup of coffee, Isla slid into a barstool at the island. “No. I’m going to floo Katie and attempt to procure a bit of courage to drop some of those boxes off at my house before my dinner with the Malfoy’s.” She chuckled, half heartedly, “I nearly fell flat my arse on my walk to the bathroom this morning.” She shook her head, running her finger along the rim of the warm mug, “They’ve got to go and if I end up accepting this job, they expect me to move into the Manor and it'll be highly unnecessary to bring it all.” 

__

Rory sighed, a frown painted across her thin lips, “Are you sure you can handle going there alone? Especially before an important dinner?” She continued, “Why don’t you wait for me to go with you? It might make things easier.” 

__

Isla bit her lip and turned away. Her hazel eyes fell on the large, old oak tree swaying in the wind. The leaves were beginning to change into all sorts of orange, red, and yellows but there were few that remained their usual, vibrant green. 

__

The green ones reminded Isla of herself. 

__

Reluctant and resistant to change. 

__

They lived in the past—not quite ready to let go of the life they’ve experienced through this year’s blooming season. Afraid that when they do, surrender to the change, they’ll fall away from the branches they've stemmed from. 

__

The green has forgotten. 

__

They will change shades. They will shrivel up. They will fall from the tree. 

__

Only to bloom again next spring. 

__

“I think this is something I need to face alone.” 

__

Rory frowned but bowed her head in agreeance anyways, “I understand.” 

__

“I appreciate the offer.” Isla mumbled, tucking a loose curl behind her ear. “I do think you're right about waiting though.” She inhaled sharply, “I haven’t the slightest clue of what I’ll be walking into. Today isn’t the day to deal with those kinds of emotions. Not when I am to face Draco Malfoy tonight.” The witch chuckled to herself, “That alone will have my occulading on overdrive.” 

__

“Good idea.” Rory slid a plate piled high with blueberry pancakes across the table. “Let me know if you change your mind.” 

__

* * *

__

After a very proactive floo call with Katie, Isla spent the rest of the afternoon reading. She dragged Rory’s tattered, navy armchair over to the fire place, snuggled up under one of her mother’s old knitted quilts, and finished the last few chapters of ‘Pride and Prejudice’ before starting ‘The Odyssey’. Half past four, she decided it was time to ready herself for dinner with the Malfoy’s.

__

Isla didn’t know what to expect. Tea with Narcissa and Scorpius had been absolutely delightful. Truthfully, she looked forward to spending more time with them. It was the thought of meeting Draco that had her feeling uneasy and a bit queasy. 

__

A nagging curiosity coincided right along with the bubbling anxiety. She desperately wanted to know what the deal was with Draco’s wife. Even if it wasn’t any of her business. 

__

Isla had obscured a fascination with Draco Malfoy towards the end of the war and the Malfoy’s trial. She found him captivatingly misunderstood. A product of his father’s misdeeds. 

__

She didn’t have a clue as to what he got up to these days or how he fared since the war. She wondered if he still looked as broken and lost as he had that fateful day amongst the rubble and bodies on Hogwarts grounds. 

__

Aiming to impress, Isla tamed her long, curls, pinning a few pieces back out of her face. To accentuate her long, dark lashes, she added a few coats of mascara and concealer to mask the dark bags beneath her eyes. She settled on a navy blue, long sleeve sheath dress with a boat neck collar that fell to just above her knees.

__

The time read ‘5:50’ as she clasped a pair of diamond studs in her ears, slipped on a pair of nude pumps, and strapped her wand to her thigh. 

__

At exactly ‘5:59’ she stepped out of a fireplace and into Malfoy Manor and was greeted by a young, excited blonde boy.

__

“You’re here! You’re here!” Scorpius bounced on his toes. He grasped Isla’s hand, dragging her towards the door before she even had a chance to admire the spacious room. “Daddy she’s here!” 

__

“What a greeting, Scorpius.” Isla chuckled, stumbling after him. “You sure do know how to make a lady feel special.” 

__

A blush coated Scorpius’ cheeks, a broad smile tugging at his little lips, “I can’t wait to show you my toys and my broom and my room—You’ll love my room, Miss Isla-”

__

She took immediate notice of the portraits lining the corridor. All sporting platinum hair, gray eyes, and pointed features. Majority of them scowled at her but a few attempted to talk—shout, and found themselves mute. Most likely due to a silencing spell. 

__

_ Interesting _ .

__

“Do you know how to fly, Miss Isla?” Scorpius inquired, drawing her attention from the peculiar portraits. “We can fly when I get big as daddy.” 

__

“I can fly a little.” Isla admitted, “It’s been awhile though. I might need some practice.” 

__

They reached the end of the corridor, stepping into a grand, bright foyer. Isla couldn’t help but gape over the luxurious space. From the marble staircase to the chandelier, it was truly breathtaking. 

__

“Do you have a broom?” Scorpius asked, tugging lightly on her arm. “I have a kitty broom right now but daddy has a bunch of cool brooms you could use.” 

__

“There you are!” Isla glanced up to find Narcissa descending the staircase. “Thank you for escorting her, Scorpius.” 

__

Isla’s breath caught in her throat, heart flipping in her chest when she caught sight of the tall, broad man escorting her. 

__

_ Draco Malfoy _ . 

__

Gone with the lanky, lithe boy she remembered. Gone with the permanent scowl and vicious sneer. Gone with the cocky, arrogant boy. 

__

Draco Malfoy was a  _ man _ now. In every sense of the definition. 

__

Draco stood tall, more than a head taller than his mother. His shoulders and chest broadened significantly. Arms toned and strong. Working as an auror fared him well. He seemed to be in perfect shape. 

__

His pale aristocratic features were sharper than she remembered—prominent jawline, high cheekbones, long nose. His once perfectly placed platinum locks appeared a bit longer and disheveled in the best possible way. His eyes were the same stormy gray but far more  _ expressionless _ . 

__

In fact, everything about Draco was stoic. Almost frighteningly so. 

__

Nonetheless, he looked good.  _ Better  _ than good. Back then she’d found him handsome but  _ now _ —She would even go as far as deeming him the most attractive man she’d ever laid eyes on. 

__

Isla snapped her mouth shut, quickly averting her hazel hues from his stone cold ones. And to think she’d found Narcissa’s gaze intimidating. Her son’s tore straight through her soul. 

__

“Good evening.” Isla politely greeted, offering them a broad smile when the pair stepped down from the last step. “You have a lovely home.” 

__

Narcissa grinned, “Thank you for coming, Isla.” She surprised the two other adults in the room by embracing the younger witch in a light hug and kissing both her flushed cheeks. “You look gorgeous.” 

__

“Thank you.” Isla smiled, bashfully, “As do you.” And she meant it. Narcissa always looked so poised and elegant, especially now in her tailored, emerald robes. It had been wise of her to wear a dress, she didn’t feel so out of place next to the older witch now. 

__

Now that Draco stood a bit closer, Isla aloud her eyes to scan the length of him. He wore a pair of black trousers, ones that seemed to be, quite literally, made for him—molded to his muscled legs like a second skin. A few buttons popped open on his white dress shirt, revealing a small amount of the smooth, milky skin of his chest. A pair of expensive dragon-hide boots upon his feet. 

__

Isla flicked her eyes away just in time to see Narcissa smirking, wryly. She’d most definitely been caught checking out her son. “Draco, this is Isla Bell.” 

__

Draco stepped forward, a heart-wrenching smirk tugging at the corner of his pink lips. He held a large hand, adorned with numerous rings, out to her. “Draco Malfoy. It’s a pleasure to meet you.” 

__

Isla felt lost in his intense gaze, as if he put her under some sort of trance. She couldn’t manage to look away.

__

“Nice to meet you.” Isla smiled, placing her dainty hand in his, giving it a short but firm shake. She was pleasantly surprised to find it was warm and gentle. 

__

To avoid embarrassing herself any further, she stepped back beside Scorpius and turned her eyes away. 

__

“The house elves have prepared supper.” Narcissa spoke up, looping her arm through Draco’s. “Shall we?”

__

“Yes.” Isla breathed out. “Sounds lovely.” 

__

Scorpius grasped Isla’s hand once more, “I’ll escort you, Miss Isla.” He tugged her forward, trailing after Narcissa and Draco as they continued down a different corridor. “You can sit by me too!” 

__

“I would love that, Scorpius.” 

__

They came to a stop right outside a pair of heavy, dark wooden doors. Draco pushed the door open, and ushered them inside. 

__

Isla caught his stormy hues as she walked past him, after they'd shamelessly traveled up the length of her body. She expected a blush to spread across the apples of his cheeks, like it had hers, but nothing. His blank stare simply narrowed. 

__

Isla Bell read people fairly easily. It’s a skill that she naturally procured over the excessive amount of time she’d spent obsessively observing people. She prided herself on being in tune with the people surrounding her. Yet with  _ him _ she couldn’t gather even a trace of emotion in his stoned features. 

__

Draco Malfoy was an enigma. And she  _ would  _ figure him out. 

_****  
  
  
_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!


	3. Captivation

**_Draco Malfoy_ **

**_September 5, 2006_ **

Draco pushed his empty plate forward and tossed his table-linen up onto the high table. He poured himself a third glass of red, elf-made wine and took another hefty sip. Stormy eyes peered over the rim of his glass, surveying the scene before him. 

To his right, sat his mother—smiling and laughing gleefully as she conversed with the unfamiliar witch across the table. He couldn’t remember a time his mother acted that way with someone who wasn’t him, his father, or Scorpius. If he didn’t know any better, he’d think the pair of witches had known each other for years. Their conversation was authentic and factual—discussing anything and everything from recommended literature to current political affairs transpiring in the Wizarding World to recipes they’d both read about in the most recent copy of ‘ _Witches Weekly_ ’. It’d been a long time since he’d seen this type of passionate alight in Narcissa's bright eyes—perhaps it had been the Yule of 1995.

Immediately to his left sat his son. The three-year old gazed up at the newcomer as if she were Morgana herself. He soaked up and hung off her every word with wide gray eyes. The younger witch did well to include him in conversation and answered every question he had to the best of her abilities, leaving the boy practically beaming and bouncing in his seat. Draco hadn’t seen Scorpius this excited since he’d gifted him his first kitty broom for his second birthday. 

The third person in the room sat pristinely to Scorpius’ left. 

_Isla Bell._

She was beautiful. Even he—a faithful married man—couldn't argue that. With her dark chocolate curls cascading to the top of her lumbar spine. The locks looked thick and voluminous whilst simultaneously healthy and glossy. Round, deep, brown eyes that reminded him vaguely of a pair of doe eyes and appeared darker surrounded by her long, black lashes. Her heart shaped face, button nose, full pink lips, and dark, thick brows were perfectly symmetrical across her unblemished, porcelain skin. 

The witch was a petite little thing. No doubt, Draco doubled her in height and weight. When beside her, he stood at least a full foot taller, meaning she couldn’t have been more than 5’4-5’5. Although slender, her figure possessed natural curves—a thin waist with wider hips, small, perky breasts, and a round, tight arse. 

Albeit, her looks weren’t the only thing to catch his attention. Draco was intrigued by the way she carried herself. Whether walking or sitting, her posture remained perfect—spine straight, shoulders back, chin high. Not once through their supper did she slouch or slump. He’d spent enough time watching her to attest to that. Although, responsive and sensible, she mostly spoke when spoken to and did well to reserve her sentiments. She was confident but not boastful in her intelligence—eager to share her knowledge and answer questions, whether it be Scorpius’ curiosity about certain words and their definitions or walking his mother through her muggle education. 

Truthfully, she reminded him of herself in a sense. Draco could put on any mask to adhere to the people surrounding him. He was an excellent occlumens. So good, that at times his shields subconsciously rose, no matter the situation. He’d spent too much time with his mind sheltered—too much time forcibly guarding his thoughts and memories from Bellatrix, that sometimes his walls wove so tightly within themselves in unnecessary attempts to protect himself. So naturally, he’d recognize a fellow occlumens. And Isla Bell was a damn good one. It became apparent when she bit down on her bottom lip, pale cheeks flushed, and dark eyes completely glazed over. He found himself wondering what she had stored in that big brain of hers or what she might possibly have to hide. 

Draco didn’t quite know what to make of it. To make of _her._

When his mother brought forth the idea of a tutor/nanny, he’d envisioned an older witch with ratty, gray hair and soft eyes. Or perhaps even someone like Severus Snape, his deceased Godfather. But never _this_.

Draco wasn’t all for the idea, not at first. 

When he first agreed to marry the youngest Greengrass’ daughter—Sweet, alluring Astoria, he’d figured she would be the one to teach and care for their son whilst he was away for work. Just as his mother had for him before his attendance to Hogwarts. It was a fairly common practice among Pureblood families, his wife’s included. Within this first few weeks of courting, Astoria made it quite plain she wasn’t the least bit interested in working. He had been fine with that, preferred it even. 

All throughout her pregnancy with Scorpius, she’d spoken excitedly and aminantly about how they would raise their son better than they’d both been raised—teach him right from wrong, provide nothing but a loving and comforting environment for him to develop and thrive within. But as soon as Scorpius was weaned from breast milk, Astoria recoiled from both father and son, leaving all plans of nourishment to befell upon him. 

After that milestone, Astoria began traveling or spending excessive amounts of time away from home. Around Scorpius’ first birthday, she brought forth the idea of an open marriage, further rectifying his suspicions about the possibility of her infidelity. Reluctantly, he’d agreed, knowing she’d continue her affairs with or without his permission. Thus, promoting an increase in absence. 

Although he’d never admit aloud, the decision pained him. Their four years of marriage before Scorpius had been phenomenal. Astoria had been the perfect wife. She remained unwaveringly by his side through his trial and the downfall of his family’s name. She accepted him for who he was, past aside. When he’d get so far lost in his memories and nightmares, she’d be the guiding light to lead him back. To care for him when he found it physically impossible to abstract himself from their bed for days on end. She’d supported his hope and dreams of becoming an Auror. 

She’d loved him for who he was. And he’d loved her, with every being and fiber within himself. 

Draco still hadn’t the slightest idea when things changed. One day she was always there and the next she was gone—like the flip of a switch. Astoria’s time for husband and son, seemed to truncate significantly upon each homecoming. Right alongside his love and respect for her. He frequently found himself wondering when her visits would cease altogether. 

Draco worked tirelessly to manage his time between work and Scorpius. A few weeks ago he’d pondered the idea of quitting his work with the Ministry to focus solely on his son. He felt it was his responsibility to compensate for the lack of his wife’s presence in their son’s life. Especially as the absence began to affect Scorpius’ attitude and behavior. But after a long discussion with his mother and an unexpected promotion from Auror Malfoy to Auror Sergeant Malfoy, he’d agreed to place the add in the Daily Prophet. 

“Je m’apelle Scorpius.” Isla’s soft, melodious voice drew Draco from his thoughts. “You try.” She leaned back in her chair, a small smile on her full, pink lips, watching the young boy expectedly. 

“Je m’apelle Scorpius.” The boy repeated, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips, “What it mean Miss Isla?” 

“Very good, Scorpius!” Isla clapped lightly, a proud smirk spread across her delicate pale features. “It means ‘My name is Scorpius’ in French.” 

Innocent gray eyes turned on him, “Did you hear my French, Daddy?” Scorpius bounced on the edge of his seat, “Did you hear it?” 

Draco smiled, his heart felt as if it physically swelled in his chest. He often wondered what he did to deserve this perfect little boy. “I did. Good job, bud.” He chuckled, shaking his head over Scorpius’ very smug smirk. One very similar to his own. “You’ll have to remember that for next time we go to France.”

Scorpius turned his attention back to Isla, chattering animality about their visit to the Eiffel Tower last spring. She listened attentively, giving him her full and undivided attention. 

This was what Scorpius needed. He needed the consistent presence of a strong, stable woman in his life. Draco loved his son more than anything in this world but he wasn’t the most affectionate—physically or emotionally. He showed his love for Scorpius in different ways. Scorpius needed— _deserved_ to feel the love of a mother. It may never come from the woman that birthed him but Draco had vowed to find a surrogate. And Isla Bell just might be the answer to this unresolved _mess_. 

“So.” Narcissa drawled, “Have you come to a decision?” She cocked a brow, a sly smirk tugging at the corner of her painted red lips.

Isla placed her wine glass back on the table, “I have.” Her brown eyes flashed, amusingly, boring a smirk to rival that of his mother’s, “I would really like to accept the job.” She shifted her eyes to Draco, “That is, if _you_ approve.” 

Draco leaned back in his chair, arms crossed over his chest, “I think you would be a great fit.” He responded, blankly, “We would be honored to have you here, Miss Bell.” 

A broad smile split across his mother’s face, “Oh. This is splendid.” She finished off the last sip in her wine glass, bright eyes shining, “When could you be ready to move in?” 

Scorpius squealed an expression of pure excitement and happiness upon his face, “You get to live with us, Miss Isla?” He slipped from his chair, barreling towards her. Isla scooted her chair back just before he jumped into her lap, “We get to play all the time. We can play with my dragons and my quidditch people on my quidditch mat in my room.” His gray eyes were wide, little hands waving animatedly, “And you can see the constellations Aunt Luna painted on my ceiling. They glow when daddy turns my lights off.” 

Draco swore his heart physically grew in his chest. After everything father and son had been through in the past two to three years, this moment here—from this day forward, everything would change. Everything would be better. Draco spent so much time and effort trying to appease the boy, to make up for the lack of his mother’s attention. He worked hard to provide for him, to be the perfect model. To do better than his father did for him. But coming to and accepting the realization that he couldn’t do it alone, had been one of the hardest revelations he’d faced since the war. Malfoys never asked for help, they were too far above that. But _this_ —Scorpius reaction, gratified him like none other. Draco had made the right choice. 

“That all sounds absolutely perfect, Scorpius.” Isla chuckled, brushing her dainty fingers through his platinum locks. She glanced up, dark eyes locking with Draco’s stormy ones, and shot him the most radiant smile he’s ever seen. Only then did he notice she had two prominent dimples on both sides of her full, pink lips. 

His heart lurched, thumping wildly in his chest. It was startling, truthfully. He couldn’t remember the last time a woman smiled at him like that. The smile of a woman he’d just meant shouldn’t affect him in such a way. Not one that he’d just hired to care for and teach his son. 

Astoria’s soft smile appeared behind his eyes. It’s been a long time since he’d seen her real smile—Not the one she’d offer him in public, strictly for appearances. She didn’t have dimples like that, nor did her baby blue eyes light up as Isla’s did—

_No._

Guilt ripped through him like the claws of a bowtruckle tearing into his chest and he turned away. Astoria was his wife. He loved her. His heart belonged to her and her _alone_. That’s how it was and how it would always be. Even if the love wasn’t or wouldn’t ever be reciprocated. 

“How does Friday sound?” Isla inquired, eyes trained on the boy in her lap. “It’s Wednesday now, so that would give me two days to pack and then I’d have the weekend to settle in before I start his lessons on Monday.” Scorpius snuggled into her chest, looking completely comfortable and at ease as she continued to brush her fingers through his hair. 

“Whatever works for you.” Narcissa smiled. Draco knew she was beyond pleased with the positive interaction taking place before her very own eyes. No doubt, Isla would be the sole topic of discussion for the next few days. “Where are you living now?” 

“I’m actually staying with Aurora right now.”

“Oh.” Narcissa cocked a brow, “I didn’t realize you were that close. How did you meet one another?” She poured a second glass of wine, running her finger along the rim of the glass. “Such a sweet lady, she makes the _best_ blueberry scones.” 

Isla beamed, proudly, “She is and she does.” She cleared her throat and glanced away, cheeks flushed, hazel orbs glazed over. _She was occulading_ , Draco noted. “She—I didn’t have anywhere to go after the war.” She inhaled sharply, biting down on her lip. “So I stayed at the Leaky Caldron for a few weeks and everyday I ended up in her cafe.” She chuckled to herself, “I would sit there for _hours_ . Truthfully, I think she took pity on me.” She shook her head, shifting her eyes back to Narcissa. “One day she finally got me to talk and then dragged me home with her. I spent the rest of the summer with her until I was due to return to Hogwarts. From there on out, I stayed with her every summer up until Graduation… She’s an _amazing_ woman.” 

Draco dropped his head, stormy eyes hidden behind clenched lids. Even after all these years, it physically pained him to hear how the war affected others. The choices he has made affected others. It’s something he accepted—not that he really had a choice, and would forever live with. The possibility that he partook—albeit not directly—in the upturn of her life, distressed him. He should’ve known when his mother informed him of her blood-status. It was ignorant of him to believe she hadn’t been affected. Whether it was because he’d never seen nor heard of her or that she’d supposedly been two years behind him in Hogwarts, it was discourteous of him not to consider. The revelation puzzled him. 

_Who was Isla Bell? And what the bloody hell happened to her?_

Clearly, something drastically devastating and traumatic if a simple supper with the Malfoy’s had her occulading as if there were no tomorrow. Call it curiosity or the need to evade self-condemnation, he needed to know what part Isla Bell played in the war and whether his actions condemned her to whatever trauma she may have faced. 

**_September 7, 2006_ **

Draco stood in his office, staring out the window. No matter what he did, how hard he tried to drown himself in the ever-growing stacks of unfinished paperwork and memos, he couldn’t manage to keep Isla Bell out of his head. 

After her _confession_ —or whatever that was, dinner ended fairly abruptly. Fortantly, Scorpius had begun to doze in Isla’s lap, serving as the perfect excuse to end their conclave and the prospects of an unpleasant discussion. She’d thanked them profusely for the opportunity and a great meal before departing by floo with the promise to meet Draco at Gringotts tomorrow evening. 

Draco pressed his forehead to the cool glass, shoulders slumping with the release of a deep sigh. He’d only managed a few hours of sleep last night. He had spent too much time racking through each and every memory from the beginning of his third year to the end of the war—in search of a mere image, interaction, or conversation that might’ve included the surname Bell or a young ravenclaw with wild, dark curls and soft, brown eyes. He found nothing. The reminiscing only left him feeling exhausted, agitated, and anxious. Reflecting on traumatic events tended to do that to one. 

“Draco?” A familiar, dreamy voice called out, dragging him from his disastrous thoughts. He spun around to find Luna Lovegood standing in the doorway, his Goddaughter, Amora perched on her hip. As usual, Luna wore a bright dress and soft smile, her blonde waves tumbling gracefully down her back. 

“Uncle Draco!” Amora squealed, wiggling out of her mother’s hold. Only once the five year old was placed on her own two feet, did he notice she was dressed to match her mother. She bolted into his awaiting arms, giggling flamboyantly when he swung her above his head.

“Luna, Amora.” Draco smiled, sinking back in his chair with Amora resting on his knee. “What are you doing here?” 

Luna plopped into a chair across from the pair. She rummaged through her canvas bag, pulling out two glass containers and a can of gillywater. “We brought Blaise lunch and figured we’d bring you some as well.” She shot him a small smile, shaking her head, “I know you forget to eat sometimes.” 

Draco reached for the containers, a small smirk threatening to break across his pale lips, “You shouldn’t have. Thank you, Luna.” He popped open the first container to find a large serving of warm Shepherd's pie. “This looks amazing.” He appraised, reaching for the fork Luna held out to him. Scooping a good sized bite into his salivating mouth, he practically moaned over the palatable taste. “Merlins, your cooking never fails to amaze me. Blaise is one lucky man.” 

Luna giggled softly, “I’m sure he’d agree with you.” She fished a bag of cookies out of her bag and passed one into Amora’s awaiting hands. “How are you doing Draco? Did you find a nanny for Scorp yet?” 

Draco nodded, swallowing down his mouthful. He took a sip of gillywater and cleared his throat, “Yes. Actually, I wanted to talk to you about that.” He leaned back in his seat, bouncing Amora on his knee, “Do you happen to know an Isla Bell? She was in Ravenclaw, a year below you.” 

“Oh. Yes!” Luna’s entire demeanor brightened, blue eyes shining with recognition, “She’s such a sweet girl. I haven’t seen her since the final battle. Is that who you hired?” 

Draco nodded, tapping his fingers on the edge of his desk, “What do you know about her? Would she be a good fit?” 

“We weren’t very close, so I don’t know much. I do know she likes to read, I always found her in the library.” Luna pursed her lip, eyebrows furrowed in thought, “She’s a muggle-born.” Her sapphire eyes widened, her pink lips tugged down in a frown, “Oh. That _poor_ girl.” 

“What?” Draco asked, leaning forward, crossed arms placed on his desk. “What is it, Luna? What happened to her?” 

“I remember now.” Luna sighed, eyes trained on her daughter. Draco realized fairly quickly she was hesitant to have this discussion in front of Amora. The revelation alarmed him. Blaise and Luna often spoke openly about the war in front of Amora and answered questions she may have—even more so as she grew older. They didn’t want to hide anything from her, just as Luna’s father hadn’t from her. If Luna thought Amora couldn’t handle hearing this, it was obviously serious. “Amora, why don’t you run and see if Daddy finished his lunch?” 

“Okay.” She hopped down from Draco’s lap, barreling out the door without a second thought. “I’ll be back, Uncle Draco.” She called out, already halfway down the hall. Luna shut the door behind her before returning to her seat. 

“This really isn’t my story to tell and I’m not quite sure what I saw-” She bit her lip, glancing nervously around the room. “The first term of 1997—Around Halloween I got a detention with Carrow’s and Isla had a detention too.” She inhaled sharply, tears pooling in her blue eyes, “I should’ve done something to stop it… I-I didn’t really understand at the time… What was happening to her—”

Draco’s eyes widened, the only time he’s seen her this close to tears was when her father passed away last spring. Luna was always obnoxiously optimistic. A strong believer that everything happened for a reason, that what we face only makes us stronger. She’s extremely observant and always willing to voice the unpleasant truths in the most mollifying manner. Yet here she was, tearing up and stumbling over a memory she procured of Isla. 

“Sometimes Antonin Dolohov would come to check up on things—oversee classes or detentions with the Carrow’s.” _Fuck_ . He did not like where this was going. “That day Dolohov volunteered to oversee Isla’s detention. It didn’t seem like the first time he’d done so either, by her reaction… I-I’ve never seen so much fear in someone’s eyes, Draco.” She shuddered in her seat, subconsciously twirling a strand of hair around her little finger. “He-He dragged her into the Carrow’s private quarters. It was connected to their office, and-and Ginny and I, we heard _things_.” 

The blonde wizard felt sick. The lunch Luna brought seemed to lose its appeal. He slumped back in his seat, running his large hands down the length of his face. She didn’t need to explain any further. He knew Antonin Dolohov well enough to know his preferred methods of torture. A fucking sick prick that got off on total power and instilling fear in others. Of course, he’d torment a fifteen year old muggle-born girl. He didn’t even want to open his mind to the idea of what might’ve gone down in that room. He himself had seen first hand, the curses that man invented and the harm they inflicted upon his victims. It wasn’t a pretty sight and he didn’t want to imagine Isla in that state. 

“I think.” Luna continued, “I think it happened continuously throughout the year. When I saw her again upon my return to Hogwarts she looked defeated— _broken_. And then in April, a month before the final battle. Flitwick pulled her aside.” She frowned, taking a deep breath. “Her parents were killed by Death Eaters.” 

That was the cherry on top. No wonder why she’d hesitated over the offer and blurted out that she was muggle-born over tea with his mother. It made sense as to why she spent most of dinner occulading. She knew his past—his family's past. Everyone did. What perplexed him was why would she even accept his offer in the first place. If she found it hard to be around them, given their past or thought them guilty by association, why subject herself to that? It was incomprehensible. 

“Luna.” He spoke up, “Do you think she would blame me—my family for what happened to her?” He scratched the stubble along his jaw and glanced away, “Would it affect how she cares for my son?” He swallowed, thickly, “And please be honest.” 

“No.” She replied, without a moment of hesitation. Her tone was confident and sure. “Isla isn’t like that. I know she isn’t.” She rose from her chair, moving to gaze out his window. “She came to us after that—Dumbledore’s army, when we were staked out in the Room of Requirements.” She sighed, airily, “She was ready to fight and she fought hard from what I remember. There was a point in time your name was brought up, she was one of the few to argue in your favor.” She glanced back, offering him a reassuring smile, “Like me, she knew you had no choice. We were similar in that sense, she kept to herself—a lone wolf. I imagine she was as observant as I. When her nose wasn’t in a book she was watching people, studying them.” 

Upon seeing his skepticism, she approached him, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder. He glanced up at her, regarding her with cautious, stormy eyes. “Isla isn’t malicious. Like most, she wanted nothing more to move forward and leave that part of her life behind.” She paused, thoughtfully, “If she accepted the job, her intentions are pure. She isn’t out to get you, Draco. You always expect the worst. Not everyone blames you. Most of the wizarding community has moved on and forgiven you.” She offered him her most sincere smile, “They see you for what you are—an amazing father, a loyal husband, a reliant son, a trustworthy friend, and an excellent auror. You’re the only one who regards yourself in such an ill manner. You need to stop punishing yourself.” Her expression hardened into one of pointed disapproval. “As a friend, I’ll have you know it hurts to see you burdening yourself with such guilt. It’s unhealthy.” 

If anyone else were to speak to him that way, they’d find themselves at the end of his wand. But this was _Luna_. The eccentric woman he’d made friends with during her time locked away in his family dungeons. The girl who had appeared at his side after the final battle, standing amongst the rubble and bodies of their peers and professors, and blurted out that she’d forgiven him and now considered them friends. Eight years later, she was the wife of his best friend and the mother of his God daughter. She understood Draco in a way that no one else ever would. She saw and accepted him for who he was. She looked out for and supported him through his darkest moments. And he loved her dearly for it. 

“You’re right, Luna.” He breathed out, placing his hand atop hers and giving it a firm squeeze. “Thank you for always being honest with me.” 

“That’s what I’m here for.” She smiled, dreamily. “ _Now_ , how are you really doing?” She inquired, rounding his desk and plopping back down in her seat. “Your head seems to be filled with Wrackspurts, more so than when we last spoke.” 

* * *

Leaving the Ministry later that evening, his head felt clearer than when he’d arrived this morning . Speaking with Luna tended to have that effect on him. 

After Amora and the blonde witch’s departure, he managed to finish the last of his paperwork. Closing out yet another case on the arrest of one of the werewolves known to be involved in Fenrir Greyback’s ‘Army’ during the Second Wizarding war. Harry and he had spent months tracking Jack Davies from London to Edinburgh, where they’d finally caught and arrested him for his involvement with the Dark Lord. Davies had been tried last Monday, August 29th and shipped off to Azkaban for life. Albeit, the paperwork bore him, signing off on a case brought him a new bout of satisfaction. 

Approaching Gringotts, he easily spotted Isla standing patiently on the front steps. She wore a pair of tapered gray trousers, a red blouse, and a pair of black suede pumps. Her dark curls were pulled back in a messy low bun, showcasing her rosy, angelic face. Her brown eyes lit up when they locked with his. 

“You made it.” Isla smiled, falling in step beside him as he passed. He simply nodded, offering her but a single side glance. “How was work?” She inquired, politely. 

“Fine.” He mumbled, yanking open the door and ushering her inside. “Let’s just get this over with. I need to get home.” 

She appeared taken aback by his shortness but didn’t comment on it. Instead, she bowed her head apprehensively, expression turning effortlessly vacant, and prolonged her strides to keep up with his lengthy ones. 

Truthfully, he felt a little bad but things needed to remain strictly professional between them. He wouldn’t chance botching their relationship at the risk of dissolving her position as caretaker for his son. Nor should he be as fascinated with the witch as he found himself to be, given that he was her employer and a married man at that. Hence, the need to keep his distance. 

_He shouldn’t find her beautiful._

_He shouldn’t be engrossed in her intelligence and wit._

_Shouldn’t care to know about her past._

_Shouldn’t be captivated by the way she interacted with his son._

_She was simply Scorpius' nanny/tutor._

_Nothing more, nothing less._

He led her down the aisle, past the rows of Goblins working quietly at their stations. Stopping only once they reached the older Goblin at the very end. 

“Lord Malfoy.” Bogard greets, eyeing him with wide black eyes as he rose quickly from his seat, “What can we do for you today?” 

Isla cleared her throat as stepped out from behind him. She lifted her chin, squared her shoulders, and straightened her spine, “Hello, Bogard.” She smiled, politely, “I would like to name Mr. Malfoy as my beneficiary, allowing him access to my vault.” 

“Miss Bell. Do you have your identification?” Bogard inquired, as he climbed down from his podium to stand before them, hands clasped behind his back. 

Draco scoffed, “I hardly think that’s necessary-”

“We do.” Isla interjected, placing a calming tap on his bicep. 

The goblin turned on his heels, “Right. Follow me.” Leaving a scowling Draco, no choice but to bite back a remark and follow. 

The process wasn’t long. Twenty minutes later, the unlikely pair found themselves outside of Gringotts once again. Draco was beyond baffled by how smoothly she interacted with the Goblins. For whatever reasons, they seemed to hold some sort of respect for her. And he found himself wondering if there was anyone who didn’t respect her. Not only had she won his stubborn mother over but one of the most arrogant, self-serving creates. 

“Well, I suppose I’ll see you tomorrow, then.” Isla spoke up, rocking back and forth on her heels. She was uncomfortable and intimidated in his presence, he could tell. 

“Mhmm.” 

She smiled, sheepishly, a settle blush rising to the apples of her cheeks. “Have a good night, Draco.” With that, she turned on her heels and walked away without a single glance back.

Draco remained there, hands stuffed deeply in his pocket, eyes locked on her retreating form. He watched the sway of her hips and the way her bun bounced with every step, until she rounded a corner and disappeared out of his sight. 

_Isla Bell would change everything. And he wasn’t the least bit sure he was ready for it._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading (:


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